The Other Child Who Lived
by Riseha
Summary: People grow up and grow apart sometimes; but that didn't mean Jemma Potter wouldn't try to make amends to her twin brother Harry. AU, Harry and OC-centric.
1. Chapter 001: Of Brothers and Snakes

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Jemma who, I swear, is not a Mary-Sue.**

**Summary: **AU, When Jemma Potter and her twin brother, Harry were introduced to the wizarding world and its dangers, she thought it was time to rebuild the bridge burnt between them. Problem was, Harry wasn't the forgiving type, and with someone out there wanting to kill them, how would they ever reconcile?

* * *

**Chapter 001:** **Happy Birthday**

"Good morning," Jemma murmured quietly. Her hazel eyes met brilliant emerald ones before the both of them hastily looked away. Jemma hesitated, licking her lips as she contemplated what she should say next. Her older twin brother, Harry didn't pause; he moved towards the stove to take over Aunt Petunia's cooking.

He didn't even turn to acknowledge her. Shoulders sagging in defeat, Jemma turned away and sat down across her uncle.

Harry served her bacon without much enthusiasm, he didn't even say anything. After The Incident two years ago, Jemma wasn't surprised he ignored her.

With the way they interacted, no one would've mistaken them as twins — fraternal as they were. Seeing his expression, one of pure loathing, made Jemma's insides squirmed. As it was, she'd already lost her appetite. She played with her food for awhile, before recalling that Harry cooked it and she probably shouldn't waste it if she wanted to get in his good graces again.

Mechanically, Jemma forced herself to chew and swallow. Harry sat beside her — undoubtedly, much to his displeasure — and it made things worse for Jemma. She didn't feel like tasting her breakfast twice.

To distract herself, Jemma turned to her large cousin, Dudley. While their cousin was horrible to Harry, he treated Jemma a little better and if she asked nicely, he'd share whatever she want with him.

"Thirty-seven?" Dudley wondered, his voice heavy with disbelief. He turned to his parents. "That's two less than last year!"

"There's one hidden underneath," Jemma supplied quietly. Aunt Petunia shot her a mild look of surprise. Usually, Jemma didn't speak at the dining table — actually, Jemma never spoke whenever Harry was around and even when he wasn't there, she rarely spoke up.

Dudley scowled. "Fine. But there's still one left."

Uncle Vernon barked out a laugh. "That's my boy, always striving to get more from life!" He ruffled his son's blonde hair, messing it up. "Don't worry. We're bringing you to the zoo as the last —"

"Bad news, Vernon," Aunt Petunia called, coming into the kitchen again, shooting Harry a disdainful look. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction. "Now what?"

"We can bring him along," Jemma said, quietly, hopefully.

Aunt Petunia spared her a glance only before turning back to her husband. "We can bring him along," she agreed, slowly, considering. "But we'll leave him in the car."

Jemma, who had suggested Harry to come along, didn't understand why he was glaring daggers at her. She felt a little hurt — but all the same, she knew she deserved it after what she did two years ago — didn't he want to go to the zoo? She thought he'd appreciate the treat.

Evidently, she didn't know him as well anymore.

"They're here," Aunt Petunia announced, knowing full well that this would stop Dudley's crying. She glanced at Jemma. "Jem, why don't you get changed?"

Jemma nodded, shooting Harry a furtive glance before darting off. Jemma was treated better than Harry only because Aunt Petunia believed that _she_ was normal — not like her freak of a brother. That was untrue. It was proven two years ago when she —

"Jemma, come on, we're leaving!"

Dudley's yell was so loud it shook the whole house — along with the pounding of his feet as he rushed to the car with his friend. Jemma didn't even realize she was spacing out there. Pulling on her sneakers, she darted down the stairs, determined to enjoy despite Harry's presence.

It wasn't that she hated Harry, but after what happened, they just weren't close anymore — Harry flat-out despised her, which she figured she deserved it.

Jemma was wholly uncomfortable when she was forced to seat in the backseat with Harry. She was squashed flat against the car door with Harry beside her and Dudley and Piers sat on the other end. Jemma could tell that Harry disliked the close contact, but as much as she shifted, she was unable to give him more room.

Finally giving up on putting some distance between them, Harry proceeded to ignore her. Jemma stared out the window, silent and brooding, listening only with one ear about Uncle Vernon's complains.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," Harry piped up, bringing Jemma back from the puppy she saw. "It was flying!"

Jemma pressed a hand to her forehead, instinctively pushing her bangs into her left eye to hide the scar running down her forehead to her eyebrow — while Harry's scar was a cool shape of lightning bolt, hers was a monstrosity of a branch, spread out like cracks on glass.

Jemma pushed back the memory of the flying motorcycle; when Harry brought it up, she swore she could remember being on one, carried by someone when she was very, very young.

Jemma was rudely pulled back from reality when Harry accidentally jostled her into awareness. He didn't look at her before sliding out the car after Dudley and Piers. With a small sigh, Jemma slide out after them, slamming the door shut.

Her long, bronze-brown hair fluttered in the wind. Pushing wayward strands of her hair, Jemma followed her — for the lack of a more appropriate word — family.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had stopped before a van, buying ice-cream for Dudley and Piers. Jemma glanced at Harry who was looking longingly at the vanilla-flavored ice-cream. "Do you want one?" she asked.

Harry shuffled away, not answering, but he got one anyway. The smiling lady had already asked him what he wanted before their relatives could spirit him away. Jemma shook her head, smiling politely, and declining the offer for an ice-cream. They wandered around the zoo — and Jemma was assigned the task of capturing their happy moments on camera.

Neither she nor Harry were in any of the taken photos. Harry wasn't invited and she declined politely.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there (which was totally Jemma's favorite sort of place), with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils. "It's not moving."

Jemma bit back a sarcastic remark, like, _Really? I wouldn't have known_ and settled for smirking slightly. Jemma's politeness was one of the few reasons why the Dursleys _like_ her. Not that Jemma was actually polite, she was just better at suppressing her negative side.

Jemma lingered, waiting for the Dursleys to move away before she approached Harry, quietly, wondering if he'd acknowledge her — even to just rebuff her was good enough of a greeting. But he didn't turn, too fascinated with the snake that had just woken up.

It winked. Jemma stared at it in disbelief just as Harry turned to stare at her. Well, _through_ her. After what happened, he pretended that she wasn't there most of the time; Jemma could count on one hand with digits left to spare the number of times he'd spoken to her in a year.

It hurt that he'd rather speak to a snake than she.

"Oh, was Brazil nice?" Harry was asking the snake.

Jemma spoke up: "It was bred here." Harry scowled, she saw his reflection in the glass. But the snake turned to her, nodding.

Before either of the twins could say anything, Harry was abruptly shoved away roughly by Dudley. Jemma jerked forward, catching him before he fell painfully onto the floor. She frowned down at him, concerned. "You okay?"

Harry grunted, wrenching himself roughly away from her. The sheer hate and loathing in his eyes was like a sharp knife twisting into her chest. Jemma turned away, staring mournfully at the snake and Dudley who —

Jemma yelped when he tumbled straight through the glass. The snake didn't seem as surprised. It slithered out of the tank, empty of the glass that separated it from freedom, seeming to be grinning at the twins.

"Brazil, here I come... Thankss, amigo."

Harry was still gaping at the snake who slithered past them. Only Jemma managed to respond, numbly, "Uh... have a safe trip." The snake gave her a wink ("I will.") before disappearing among the screams and legs.

Jemma knew trouble would arrive the moment they were loaded back into the car. She could practically see Uncle Vernon shaking in rage, struggling to hold himself back until Piers left the area before letting loose on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak.

Jemma glanced at her uncle and brother, before speaking up, "Harry, why don't you go to your cupboard?" Her twin brother shot her a reproachful look before darting off.

Jemma watched as Uncle Vernon collapsed into a chair while Aunt Petunia ran to get him a bottle of brandy before she ran upstairs. Her aunt may be a little nice to her, but her uncle didn't like her as much (he just liked her better than Harry) and she didn't want to be in his way if he started raging.

Jemma was given her own bedroom, rather cramped and dark which was how she liked it. Her walls were decorated a deep, dark maroon and so were her covers; the furniture was a rich shade of mahogany. There was very little space to move around, but she didn't mind.

Her single bed took up half of the room, the rest were covered by shelves of her books, and a desk for her to study. Jemma glanced at her unfinished workbook. If she get another round of straight A's, she might just managed to wrangle a laptop out of her aunt.

Tired, stressed-out and horribly depressed, Jemma flipped the pages to her unfinished essay, determined to complete her work tonight.

**-0-**

Jemma blinked mid-yawn, furiously scrubbing the crust of sleep from her eyes to see properly. Harry had just dumped a letter in front of her. Curious, she plucked it up from the table before Dudley could sneak a peek.

Aunt Petunia eyed it suspiciously. "What's that?"

"A letter," responded Jemma vaguely, but deciding not to irk her aunt, added, "from my friend." The lie slid from her lips smoothly, and Jemma didn't even pause as she read the address:

_Ms. J. Potter_  
_The Small Bedroom in Maroon_  
_4 Privet Drive_  
_Little Whinging_  
_Surrey_

Who would write to _her_?

Contrary to the lie she often told her aunt and uncle, she had _no_ friends. Friends, to Jemma, were but a term; a synonym for the stepping stones to cross the river they called life. Sure, she spoke to her classmates, but they never chatted about pointless stuff, but compared notes and school-related work.

Jemma drummed her fingers mindlessly on the piece of paper, sliding it into her pocket when her uncle made an abrupt movement. He disapproved of many things, the last thing she needed was for him to take away her letter. Fortunately, he wasn't looking at her. But at Harry who was holding a similar letter.

Uncle Vernon had snatched Harry's letter from him, shaking the letter open to read it. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, just like Jemma's. Her uncle's face turned ashen white when he read it, he actually stuttered when he called his wife.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!"

Jemma glanced at them quizzically, her aunt and uncle were staring at each other in disbelief, seeming to have forgotten that the Potter twins and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

"It's not yours," Jemma said, rising to her brother's defense.

"Get out, all three of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope. Harry didn't move, he glared at his uncle.

"I want my letter!"

"Out!" roared Uncle Vernon.

Jemma slid out of her chair, darting out of the room and up the stairs. She closed the door to her room just as she heard the kitchen door slam shut. Her letter was safe. Smirking to herself, Jemma studied the envelope. Before she could open it however, someone pounded on her door.

Only her uncle would knock so loudly. Jemma slid her letter under the covers before she grabbed a novel and threw herself onto the bed, trying to act casual, she raised her head to the doorway where her uncle peered in suspiciously.

"Did you get a letter?"

"No," she lied. "My friend wrote and told me she got chickenpox."

Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes. Apparently, he wasn't as stupid as he looked. "Which friend?"

"Alice Gehabich," Jemma said. "You know, the Russian girl who came by here sometimes?"

Nodding to himself, Uncle Vernon left. To make her social-life story more believable, Jemma had purposely taken her classmates's stuff, forcing them to come to her house to reclaim them. This way, her aunt and uncle would think she actually have friends who'd want to visit her.

They just didn't know they never wanted to step foot on their lawn.

Jemma waited until his footsteps faded before she retrieved her letter. She fingered the little thing as she contemplated the sender. She was sure whoever this person was, they were the same person who sent Harry his letter.

The letter read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_**Minerva McGonagall**_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Jemma snorted, pulling out the second page and looking it through. "Rubbish," she muttered, dropping the envelope and letter onto the ground. As if magic existed. If it did, Jemma thought bitterly, feeling her eyes stinging, my parents wouldn't have died. They'd be one big, happy family and Jemma might even have younger siblings to play with.

Who would play such a terrible joke on her?

Sure, Jemma was quiet and had no friends, but she was sure she had no enemies in school either. Viciously kicking the letter away, Jemma threw herself onto the bed with unnecessary force, burying her face in her pillow as she willed the tears away.

Her life sucks.

**-0-**

It became clear, however, that the sender would not relent until Harry got the letter as well. Jemma hadn't told Harry what the letter contained, not that she didn't want to, her brother didn't give her a chance.

Some sadistic part of Jemma celebrated the look on Harry and Dudley's face. Dudley was in shock, he'd thrown a huge temper tantrum that usually got whatever he wanted from his parents and it had no effect. Harry, surprised by the sudden change and that he'd gotten the room across Jemma, was bitterly wishing he'd read the letter. The boys were glaring at one another, obviously blaming one another.

Fortunately, neither of them had the gall to ask her about the letter.

Jemma and Aunt Petunia sat at the dining table while the guys wrestled for the letter. Jemma wondered how they knew she had received her letter and thus, didn't bother sending anymore letters. Aunt Petunia seemed relieved that she got no letters and was even smiling at her now.

Jemma, having seen this strange development, wondered if the letter was telling the truth after all.

For the rest of the week, attempts to send Harry's letter got even more crazy. Jemma started carrying her letter around, waiting for an opportune moment to show it to Harry — some part of her wondered why she was being so persistent when he was just going to rebuff her anyway.

"All of you!" roared Uncle Vernon, startling Jemma so badly she nearly dropped the cup. "Pack up, we're leaving!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared to argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

After much whining, Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Jemma and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets.

For all his princely attitude, Dudley started snoring the moment his head hit the pillow. Harry and Jemma shared a bed and both of them were uncomfortable with the arrangements — they didn't argue since arguing with the Dursleys were pretty much useless and a waste of breath.

The twins left a big gap in between them, practically sleeping at the edge.

It was hours into the night before Jemma rolled over, facing Harry's back, did she managed to sleep.

**-0-**

Jemma was miserable. She was starting to wonder whether or not she should just show Harry her letter, right in front of their relatives, just to be done with it. Her letter was getting crumpled with how often she moved it, from this pocket to another — to avoid her uncle's detection.

Uncle Vernon had rented a boat, and with a storm raging out there now, she doubted anyone would be able to deliver a letter. Similarly, the occupants of the room wouldn't be able to hear anything if they speak now, right?

Jemma turned, facing her brother's back again, but this time, she reached out and tugged on his shirt.

"What?" Harry snapped after one particularly hard jerk.

"I've got the letter," whispered Jemma; the sound of paper rustling were drowned out by the rumbling outside. Harry turned over so fast he nearly banged his own head. "It's not yours, but it's from the same person."

He eyed her skeptically. "How do you know that?"

"The envelope's the same and it had the same coat of arms, right? Lion, eagle, badger and snake?" Jemma brandished the envelope in his face. It was rumpled but still readable. He eyed her suspiciously before accepting it. "It's ridiculous if you ask me."

Harry looked irritated. "Then it's a good thing I'm not asking you."

Jemma blinked, unable to hide the hurt look before he saw it. She turned away while Harry made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. "Do you think it's... real?"

"No," she said, having always been unable to lie to her twin brother.

"But this... this..." He shook the later in her face. "It's the only thing that could explain what's been happening to us!" Jemma rather liked the way he said 'us' — and even though she didn't want to lose the privilege she had with her aunt and uncle, she still felt childishly excited about the prospect of being magical.

"Happy birthday," Jemma muttered just as Dudley's clock strike twelve. Before Harry could respond, the door flew open. Jemma turned.

There, blocking the doorway, stood a giant of a man.

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**Question:** What are your honest opinion?


	2. Chapter 002: Of Giants and Shopping

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but Jemma Potter. Annabeth Chase, Zia Rashid, Piper McLean and Hazel Levesque are not OCs, they belong to the PJO and KC (only Zia) series.**

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**The Other Child Who Lived**

**First Arc.**

**Chapter 002: **Of Giant and Shopping

Jemma laid where she woke, breathing harshly, her hazel eyes fixed on the moldy ceiling of the ship. She reached up to pinch her own cheek, wincing when pain thrummed through her senses. Carefully, silently, she pushed herself up, glancing around.

Harry was snoring away beside her. Clenched tightly, like a lifeline, in his hand was his Hogwarts acceptance letter. He'd finally gotten his from Hagrid.

So yesterday night wasn't a dream. Smoothing out the creases in her t-shirt, Jemma shrugged on her jacket, springing to her feet and padding softly to where Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper was snoring loudly. She stared at him for a while before she reached out for his pink umbrella.

It was an odd color for a macho man like him but Jemma knew this umbrella wasn't only used to shield himself from rain.

She swore the umbrella was the cause of the warm fire he'd started with no firewood and no lighter. Jemma tugged on the handle, feeling it resist her but before she could try again —

"What are you doing?" Jemma glanced up when she saw Harry's sleepy, suspicious eyes on her. His voice was sharp and accusing. "I thought you were above thieving."

"I was merely curious," she shot back, a little insulted.

He glared at her and she didn't bother trying to hide her irritation. "Hey!" Jemma, still scowling, turned her irritated glare downward where Hagrid was sitting up. His movements shook the whole ship, shaking her relatives awake.

Hagrid, sitting up, was already as tall as she was; Jemma took a few steps away, her grip tightening on the umbrella nervously, when he stood, stretching and she heard several loud creaks that could've heralded the start of an earthquake. He squinted at her and Harry, seeming to notice the tangible tension between them.

"Uh... am I missin' sumthin'?"

"No," Jemma responded shortly, quickly, before her brother could tarnish her name even further. She handed his umbrella back. "I suppose that is a wand?" she inquired curiously. Seeing his quizzical and slightly panicked look, she added, "You lit a fire with it when there's no firewood and the fireplace is damp."

Hagrid accepted the umbrella, grinning. "Dun tell anyone I did magic," he said, repeating what he said yesterday. "I ain't suppose'ta be doin' anythin' magical." He beamed brightly at Jemma, surprising the young girl because no one — not even her brother — ever smiled so brightly to her, as if her presence was pleasing. "Wit' brains like yer, I'm sure yer goin' ta be in Ravenclaw."

It was Jemma's turn to looked puzzled and he hurried to elaborate. "Ravenclaw's one o' der houses, smart kids go der." He scratched his cheek sheepishly. "I'm sure yer all know I ain't in that house."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "There's more than one?"

"Undoubtedly," responded Jemma, unable to keep her cheek in check. "Or he wouldn't be using plural." Harry glared at her.

Hagrid studied the both of them, looking from one to the other, before clearing his throat. "Uh, well, let's head out, eh?"

Jemma uncrossed her arms, smiling slightly now. "Yeah," she said. "Let's."

**-0-**

Jemma knew, from the resentful stare Harry sent her way, he didn't want to share their family's vault with her at all. Undoubtedly, he thought she was going to be using them for illegal purposes. Jemma didn't bother troubling herself with convincing him of her true intentions.

Her intentions?

Nothing actually. Jemma knew too little of this new world opened up to her to have decided anything she wanted to delve in. Pulling on her best _I'll-kill-you-if-you-keep-that-up_ stare when some passersby looked at the pouch of wizard money jingling on her belt, Jemma sauntered after Hagrid and Harry.

Jemma peered into the busy shop they'd stopped in front. "Let's compromise," she said, stumbling when she was jostled out of the way by another wizard. "I'll go get out textbooks, and you'll buy the robes for me."

Hagrid thought about it for a moment, but Jemma knew he'd give in; his impatience was very obvious, no matter how helpful he sought to be. He nodded. "But do yer know yer way?"

Jemma nodded. "I'll meet you two at Ollivander's. Our robes the same size," she added to Harry who grunted noncommittally as Jemma sidled away from those two. Briefly, she wondered what Harry would tell Hagrid when she wasn't there. No doubt the giant of a man had noticed the tension between them, the coldness and stiff disdain exchanged.

Jemma was very willing to play nice with Harry — so the enmity was entirely one-sided on his part. Yes, Jemma knew she was entirely at fault but her instincts of self-preservation was well-honed and she often acted in her best interests before thinking things through — even at the expense of the people around her.

Still, her heart ached.

**-0-**

When she saw the old man, she did what she always did when she met new people: she sized them up. He watched her and her brother too. Deciding to make a good first impression in case he would be a useful adversary — he could make lethal magical weapons, how was that for useful? — in the future, she cleared her throat and said, "Hello."

He inclined his head politely, returning her polite greeting with a neutral, "Hello, young miss." He squinted at her, then shifted his eyes to Harry — more precisely, the scar on his forehead. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry — Jemma." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes," he said to Harry, quicksilver eyes curious and slightly penetrating. "It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander turned away from Harry, turning to face her instead. "Lily's face but James's coloring and eyes, yes? Your father, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that Jemma could see herself reflected in those misty eyes. Very little unnerved Jemma and she was quite uncomfortable about her reaction to him. She wasn't so sure about keeping him close to her, magnificent wandmaker or not. It was only out of politeness and pleasantry that kept her from leaning away.

"And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander touched the branch-like scar on Jemma's face with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

Her scar tingled. Her hand twitched, already halfway reaching up to swat the old man's hand away from her — convinced that he was insane — but he pulled away when he saw a familiar large man.

"Hagrid!" he called, rambling on about Hagrid's wand.

Jemma didn't bother; she reached up to press a hand to her forehead, hissing her breath as she ran a hand through her hair, further messing up the curls. Something pressed her memory, a quick flash of Ollivander, sitting up to greet her, but in a different manner — as if she'd step foot here before and was merely a would-be witch, not a famous girl who lived.

_—do you recognize me?_

"No," Jemma hissed, blinking the spots away from her eyes to see Ollivander standing before her, blinking curiously, apparently having said something.

"But this is necessary measure, I need to know your measurements to help you unite with your wand, young witch," he said. "Which is your wand arm?"

Deciding not to argue, Jemma held out her right hand. She dropped it the moment the measuring tape shifted away to measure the length of her body. She glanced briefly at Harry to see him being subjected to the same treatment while Ollivander wander through the shelves, pulling boxes out. He handed Harry a wand. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

He turned to Jemma, pressing a longer wand into her hand. "Now, even though you may be twins, don't expect to get the same type of wand. As I've said before, no wand is the same. Here, pine and dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches. Flexible."

The moment the wand touched her palm, she knew it wasn't the one for her. Ollivander seemed to be having fun with her and her brother's constant failure at finding a perfect wand.

Didn't use to be so hard. Jemma blinked, struck, by the oddity of such a thought. It wasn't like she'd been there before. Starting to feel uneasy and queasy, Jemma was all for trying every wand he had just to get out of there.

"Not pine?... Hm, I thought you strike me as intriguing. Rosewood? No, too tame for you. Cypress? Hm, no, neither of you are up to this wand's standard of nobility..." With every failed wand and every comment he made, Jemma was starting to feel insulted. This guy seemed overjoyed at the prospect of pointing out why the wand didn't chose her or her brother. Either they were despicably weak or distasteful or the wands were arrogant assholes.

Jemma was leaning more to the latter; scowling, she stowed the wand back into its box and lidded it.

"This wand is too short... Larch? No, your talents are clearly visible, nothing hidden there... What about this?" Ollivander turned to Harry, as it was his turn; Jemma had just settled the ash and unicorn tail wand into its box when she heard, "holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry waved it, with the expression of one fully expected to be disappointed, but sparks flew out of its end, like miniature fireworks.

Ollivander simply beamed. "You found your life-long companion," he said happily. "But it's curious, yes, very much so."

"What's curious?" Harry wondered.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

Jemma frowned. "You sound impressed by what it had done," she remarked coldly.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all," Ollivander smiled, his eyes glinting. "Tom Riddle did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

Jemma wondered, someday, would Ollivander ever tell aspiring witches and wizards coming here, about her, about the things she would do in the future. She felt satisfied at the mere thought, her lips twitching. "Harry's met his match," she remarked, voice low. "but I still have yet to meet my partner."

"Yes... I've been meaning to try this wand out on you the moment you stepped in." Jemma felt a tad annoyed she was being used as an experiment but didn't protest when Ollivander handed her a wand. "Yew — made of the same tree that spawned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's wand wood — and phoenix feather — no, not from the same phoenix, this one came from a female one — thirteen and a quarter inches. Try it."

"Birds of the same feather flock together," Harry muttered under his breath, shooting his sister a mild glare.

Jemma's skin pricked when Ollivander dropped the wand in her hand. She grasped it tightly, feeling an awkward sort of feeling when she held it; there was something about it, but she was sure it wasn't the sense of one who'd met a lifelong companion. She shook her head. "No," she said. "It's not destined to be mine."

Ollivander actually looked disappointed. Jemma felt ill, was she supposed to be the owner of the same wandwood of a wand that killed her parents?

"Cedar," Ollivander said, sounding bored and disheartened now. "dragon heartstring, thirteen inches and supple."

Jemma didn't need to touch it to know that it was the one for her. If possible, Ollivander look even more disappointed. "Oh," he said; which was pretty much what Jemma needed to know that cedar wandwood was pretty common and that he'd expected more from her. "My father always says the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them."

He studied her critically. He didn't say anything, but accepted their payment and bowed them out, but she swore she heard him mutter, "What a disappointment," when he thought she could hear no more.

Was Jemma disappointed her wand core wasn't as special as her brother's? Maybe, but there was nothing she could do about it. The wand chooses the wizard, and it had no interest in her.

Jemma twirled her wand, analyzing it critically, trying to imagine being a terrifying adversary with this common wandwood and core.

Golden sparks flew from the tip of her wand, as if trying to tell its master that it was as special as every other wand in the world.

As they crossed the border between the magical world and the normal world, Jemma had fixed herself a goal:

_I'll do great things and someday, people will whisper my name, will revere me._

**-0-**

Jemma stroke Hercules — the snowy owl she'd gotten for her eleventh birthday, the only way to differentiate this owl with her brother's owl, was that the edges of its wings and tail were black and had black spots on its body. And the gender too. Hercules was male while Hedwig was female.

"We're leaving for Hogwarts today," she said softly. "You excited?"

Hercules didn't seem enthusiastic, he looked pissed — understandable as he'd been stuck in his cage for a month. Not for the first time, Jemma wondered why she was always stuck with infuriating creatures.

Sighing, she decided to let that slide as she slid off her bed, grabbed her trunk and cage and set off for the car.

As promised, their uncle dropped them off at King's Cross Station, with a nasty smile and an unmeaning wish for them to have a nice term. Jemma didn't see a large sign proclaiming platform nine and three quarters — and she didn't believe Hagrid had it in him to play a trick on them. He had neither the brains nor the heart to do so.

Harry cast her furtive glances, obviously wondering if she knew a way to the platform.

Jemma was vastly different from Harry in that aspect, she never panicked until the real problem was facing her. She had never been to Hogwarts so really, she had nothing to miss. Besides, she could always send Hercules out for help from the school. If Hagrid got the_ owl are magical creatures who know their way_ _around_ part right.

"Now what?" Harry asked, grudgingly waiting for an answer.

Jemma leaned casually against the platform between platform nine and ten. "Well, obviously, we can't be the only students using this way to Hogwarts. Trains usually carry—"

Jemma didn't get a chance to finish whatever it was she was saying, as the next moment, she found herself hurling backward through thin air.

She staggered, landing on her ass when she finally stopped falling.

She was leaning against a wall. A freaking, solid barrier, how did she fall through?

Struggling to keep her face calm, she picked herself and Hercules — who had started screeching like mad, but was ignored as it was common for owls to screech here — up, staring at the platform that had appeared before her.

Nine and three quarters.

This is it: but how was she going to tell her brother?

Staring quizzically back at the wall, Jemma considered the chances of her passing through and managing to come back again. What if it rebuffed her after one time?

Jemma stepped away when a redheaded boy stepped through, a _P_ badge on his coat; he didn't spare her a glance, merely hurried to the train. Then, after a few moments, another redhead emerged from the magical barrier. He stared at her curiously, unlike his arrogant brother who seemed to be in a hurry before he was pushed away by his twin.

He forgot all about her entirely as he yelled, elbowing his twin and joked around with him.

Jemma was a little jealous but she didn't think this was the time; her twin was on the other side and if she didn't do anything, he might be —

"Jemma!"

She turned, surprised to see her brother bursting through the barrier. "Oh," she said. "You made it."

Harry scowled fiercely. "You knew how to get here!" he accused.

"I didn't—"

"Save it," he spat angrily. "I was lucky there was a kind woman there to help me."

Jemma opened her mouth to argue but he shoved her away; she nearly fell, but she caught herself in time and turned away. She pulled away, to a considerable amount of distance but still within hearing range to hear her brother conversing with another redhead.

Deciding that her brother wouldn't miss her at all, she disappeared, following the throng of students shoving one another into the train. She skillfully threaded past their feet and onto the train.

Jemma was heaving her trunk into an empty compartment when the door was threw opened loudly. She turned, frowning, assessing the newcomer. Instantly, she knew this girl would challenge her or at least try to make fun of her. She had short, pixie cut brown hair and dark eyes.

She cocked a brow, crossing her arms in what was supposed to be a threatening manner and spoke. "Do you mind?"

"No," Jemma responded, sitting and crossing her legs and arms, unwilling to give up her seat.

"Move," The other brunette spat.

"No, why should I?"

"This is my seat — "

"I do not see your name anywhere," Jemma said coldly, eyeing the other girl with disdain. If every kid in Hogwarts was like this, she was ready to quit. "It's not yours. I see no reason to move."

"You move because I said so!" The girl snarled.

Jemma — hurt and enraged already by the fact her brother was ignoring her, had gained a friend and had left her alone without so much as a backward glance — was so furious, her mind went blank and a loud, rushing sound swooshed past her. When Jemma blinked, pulled back from limbo, she heard screams.

There, lying by her feet in a pile of shattered remains, was the glass windows — what remained of it anyway. She raised her head, trying to muster a look of superiority despite her disbelief and confusion, to look at the other girl.

Her cheeks were bleeding from what must have been Jemma's magic's doing. Everyone was peering out of their compartment to look at the commotion.

Trying not to look as if she was guilty, Jemma said, very lightly and gently, "I suggest you leave before I lose control." The girl shot her a look of pure loathing before she grabbed her stuff and fled down the aisle. Jemma turned her gaze back to the glass-covered floor.

Great. She had already caused trouble, made an enemy for herself even before school started.

"_Reparo_."

Jemma watched, fascinated, as the glass mended themselves and reattached themselves to the frame. She turned; an older girl with dark blonde hair stood there, she studied Jemma with something akin to fascination — not in the good sense, the older girl seemed to be studying her like a blueprint.

"You might be?"

The blonde raked her eyes across Jemma's oddly-shaped scar. "So the rumors are true, the Potter twins are here, on this train." Jemma nodded stiffly, unsure how to react to this greeting. She wasn't rude nor was she extremely polite. "Annabeth Chase. Slytherin, third-year."

Jemma took her hand and shook it. "Slytherin?" she wondered.

Annabeth nodded. "It's one of the four houses," she elaborated. "Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor." She studied Jemma critically. "I have a feeling I'll be guiding you for the years to come."

"I don't mind joining Slytherin, I suppose," Jemma murmured vaguely.

"What's your blood status?"

Jemma had a feeling the older girl wasn't referring to her blood type (which was AB), and she stared at her. "Blood status... my parents are wizards, if that's what you're asking."

Annabeth gave her an appraising look. Before she could speak, however, the compartment door slid open and this time, the three girls filled in instead of picking a fight.

Sitting beside Jemma was a pretty girl with vague, Arabian feature, short black hair and intense gold eyes. As if sensing her stare, the golden-eyed girl turned to face her, sizing her — eyes lingering on her scar as usual — before extending a hand. "Zia Rashid, Slytherin second year." Her eyes trailed to Annabeth, the oldest girl. "If Annabeth has taken you under her wing, I see no reason why I should not befriend you."

"I'm—"

"Jemma Potter," supplied the other girl. This girl was the only one who looked remotely normal, dressed in Muggle clothing instead of the robes Annabeth, Zia and the other unknown girl were wearing. Her eyes were strange though, a kaleidoscope of blue, green and brown; her brown hair was choppily cut, like she'd decided to do it herself.

Jemma nodded curtly, wondering if it was an advantage or disadvantage to be so well-known for something she hadn't done anything yet.

"The name's Piper McLean." Jemma squinted at her; she looked and her name sounded familiar. "You'd know me through my dad. He's a movie star, you know, Tristan McLean?"

Jemma nodded vaguely; Aunt Petunia might have mentioned him once but she couldn't remember. "First year?" she wondered and Piper nodded. Her lips twisted wryly. "Could've come last year but my birthday is after September so it's a no go."

Jemma glanced at the last, silent girl. She, too had golden eyes — but they were softer and not as fierce as Zia's — and cocoa-colored skin with frizzy chocolate-colored hair. Sensing their stare on her, she squirmed but extended a hand in greeting. "Hazel Levesque," she offered, shaking Jemma's hand. "Third-year Slytherin."

She sure didn't look like a third-year.

"So, what did you do to evoke Annabeth's protection?" Jemma's eyebrows climbed to her hairline at Piper's question. "Annie —pure-blood there — and I are cousins, so she's helping me out, being a half-blood and all — Muggle dad, witch mom who happens to be Annie's aunt — I'd need it if I aspire to be a Slytherin."

"She got in through sheer potential," Annabeth said, pulling a book out. "You'd do well to remind any bully that you're with me — if you're in Slytherin, that is — so I could protect you. I'm what people would call a blood-traitor," she added when she saw Jemma's look of polite bafflement. "A pure-blood who's close to Muggle-borns and fascinated by Muggles and their stuff."

"I'm Muggle-born," Zia said. "So is Hazel for the matter, that is why we stick ourselves to people like Annabeth."

"Does blood status matter?" Jemma asked.

Annabeth raised her eyes sharply to Jemma. "You've got potential, I'll give you that. But shed that ignorant look, even if you know nothing, pretend you know so that you won't look like a total fool." She leaned forward in her seat. "And to answer your question: yes, blood purity matters. Especially when you're in Slytherin."

Zia smirked. "In Slytherin, it's either kill or be killed."

Suddenly, Jemma wasn't so sure this world would be boring at all.

**-0-**

* * *

_I will tell you now:__My main goal for this story is to work on actual CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.__Meaning I will actually be building my character up, making them grow and learn — just like a real story. Meaning my character will actually start off low, but work her way up. __When I meant character development, I really meant character development — if you read my HxH stories, you'll know. Because Jemma is my protagonist, her development will be slower, and more subtle (I assure you, though, it will be there). However, I still intend to elaborate on the other characters, the ones that will be effected the most by Jemma (e.g Harry), to be more precise. This way, you can better see the AU-effect._

**Question: **What sort of person do you think she is?

**_Reviews_ **_are love!_

**Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ**


	3. Chapter 003: Of Houses and Broomsticks

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Jemma.**

* * *

**The Other Child Who Lived:**

**First Arc.**

**Chapter 003: **Of Houses and Broomsticks

Jemma wanted to see Harry but she didn't think he'd appreciate her presence — she'd done good in staying away, and she was sure he would wonder why she'd bother coming to him. Maybe Harry felt no sense of kinship from her, but she thought seeing the face of a family would help calm jittery nerves.

"Good luck," Hazel whispered as the first-years were led away toward Hagrid. "See you in Slytherin... possibly." And she disappeared along with Annabeth and Zia.

Piper shot Jemma a wry glance. "Which house do you think you'd be in?"

Jemma shrugged. "I have no friends in other houses, but being in Slytherin, being with Annabeth might be advantageous to climb up the food chain."

"Welcome to Slytherin," Piper laughed, clapping her on the back before leading her onto a boat.

Jemma craned her neck, briefly catching Harry's eye as he climbed into another boat with a redhead, a bushy-haired girl and a portly boy. She cocked a brow at his choice of company but he didn't catch her expression, having turned away the moment their eyes met.

"Something wrong?" Piper asked, pulling her cloak tighter over her body as she peered over the boat.

Jemma shook her head, remaining silent, content to study her surroundings. They reached the end of the boat ride far too soon in Jemma's opinion, she rather liked sitting on the boat and the gentle night breeze was lulling her to sleep. Catching the look on her face, Piper laughed.

"Don't be too sleepy," she teased. "there might be a test. What if you can't perform magic out of sleepiness?"

Jemma's eyes narrowed sharply. "You're lying. They took our trunks out of the train, I saw. Why go through the trouble of making us buy books and helping us pack up then sending us back?"

Piper arched a brow. "You sure you need Annabeth's protection? I have a feeling you could protect yourself fine."

Jemma suppressed a self-satisfied smirk, clambering out of the boat and sidling up closer to Harry — even though he didn't turn to see her there. They waited a while before a boy broke rank, stepping forward and facing Harry, his back turned to the Entrance Hall.

"Malfoy," hissed Piper. "Watch your back around him."

Jemma nodded vaguely, stepping closer till she was behind Harry, glaring slightly at the boy who extended his hand, right after insulting her brother's friend.

If there was one thing she shared with her twin, it was that they could take care of themselves fine: Harry narrowed his eyes coldly at the blonde boy, saying, "I think I can tell the good from the bad myself, thanks."

Jemma smirked, crossing her arms and looking away when Malfoy narrowed his eyes her way. Her smirk faltered when she saw transparent creatures swooping down.

"Ghosts," supplied Piper helpfully. "Pretty much harmless, come on, move it, we're about to be Sorted."

Jemma had never seen such a strange and beautiful place — Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wouldn't have liked it here — and she loved it. She hadn't even seen the rest of the place yet, but she knew this place was perfect. She never wanted to go back to Privet Drive. Judging from her brother's face, he liked the place too but was too worried about the Sorting.

She tugged his sleeve, and he managed to shake himself out of his nervousness to scowl at her.

Well, being angry was better than nervous and scared.

"Don't worry," she told her twin. "We just have to put on that Hat and it'd Sort us — ah, here it comes." Harry was staring at her oddly, but he turned to see the Hat being placed on the sole chair anyway. He looked surprised she was actually telling the truth.

Jemma turned away, sure that she would want to miss the scathing looks and remarks he had in store for her, to see the Slytherins looking up at them with only mild, assessing interest. Jemma caught Annabeth's eye and the older girl nodded curtly.

Jemma waited.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

Jemma was starting to get impatient but fortunately, there weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a  
pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and  
then, at last — "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

"Then that means his twin is here too!"

"Is that Jemma Potter?"

Jemma felt a little uncomfortable under all those staring, but was quickly snapped out of it when the Hat opened wide at the brim, and yelled, "GRYFFINDOR," she slumped slightly in disappointment, knowing that her chances of entering that _honorable_ house were slim.

"You next," Piper hissed. "Good luck."

And sure, enough, Jemma was called. She stepped forward, sat at the chair and the last thing she saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was her brother staring at her — she didn't know how to read that look.

Did he want her to join him or did he want her to leave him?

His eyes portrayed a mixture of bemusement, anger, sorrow and wistfulness — no one could blame Jemma for being unable to discern what he was thinking.

"_Ah... your mind feels very familiar — oh certainly not because I Sorted your twin_." Jemma jerked slightly when the Hat started speaking, but forced herself to relax under the stares of hundreds. "_I'm sure I've never Sorted you... but nevermind that. Let's see what you have in store for me to dissect... Oho... I witness your past, your power — how you betrayed your brother for yourself — didn't work out well, did it?_"

"No." A thought struck Jemma then. "Wait, you could read minds, right? Can you tell me what my brother thinks — "

The Hat hummed in agreement. "_He despises you for what you've done; yet, on the other hand, he_ is_ your older brother after all, shouldn't he be taking care of his baby sister? But enough of that, we're here to Sort you. Hm..._" Jemma was sure her Sorting was taking quite a while and hoped it would be over soon.

"_Hufflepuff? No... too lazy to do things the hard way, not too loyal and has no wish to be... too self-preserving... Ravenclaw? No, you're not wise at all — you make grievous and foolish mistakes and you never regret or reflect on it, and you don't seem to be doing such soon. Clever, yes, but only when it concerns your own future, not about others. Gryffindor? Yes, you should learn from the brave and chivalrous, learn to be courageous and own up to your mistakes_."

Jemma tensed. What would her brother think?

"_And yet..._" The Hat continued, musing to itself. "_I can sense the Slytherin in you — self-preserving, cunning, ambitious and a great deal more thirsty than your brother to prove yourself — power-hungry too. It's the right choice, don't you see?_"

Jemma wished she could lift the hat to see what her brother was feeling at the moment. _Knowing him_, she thought bitterly, _he's probably praying to be away from me. Anywhere but Gryffindor_, she thought, deciding to spare her brother from her presence.

"_Alas — ah, well, good luck in making up with your brother —_ SLYTHERIN!"

Cheers, louder than the rest, and roars of approval rose from her new housemates — as Jemma stood up and handed the Hat back to Professor McGonagall who was staring at her with renewed light, she glanced back at her twin who was looking right at her.

For the first time, she turned her back on him.

**-0-**

What was Jemma thinking?

Harry didn't know.

Beside his new housemate, Ron Weasley clapped his shoulder awkwardly in an attempt to be comforting. He looked wholly uncomfortable, having said that all Slytherins were rotten to the core and now that his friend's twin sister was in it...

"Don't worry," said Ron. "she might be the nicest Slytherin... or... maybe the Hat's made a mistake? We can ask Professor Dumbledore." He sounded more hopeful at the end, glancing at Harry for his reaction.

"Honestly, I'm don't feel too bad about being separated from my sis — I don't like her much anyway. I just pity those Slytherins who'd be at her mercy. I'd watch my back if I were the one talking to her." Harry shrugged, trying to brush the strange looks and questions he was receiving.

Fred Weasley looked thoughtfully at him. "I don't think I can imagine a life in Gryffindor without George. What happened between you two? Twins are suppose to be close."

"Ask her," spat Harry with boiling resentment. "Drop it. I don't want to talk about it."

He glared down at his plate — and despite the delicious food that appeared after the Headmaster's short and odd speech ended, he still couldn't push away the memory of his sister's sorrowful eyes on her regretful face.

Even when she wasn't there, she was always ruining things for him, he thought bitterly.

**-0-**

Jemma clapped loudly when Piper joined her beside Annabeth and Zia. Jemma offered Piper a small smile, though she also made a mental note to watch herself around the taller girl — there was a reason why she got to enter Slytherin. Studying every new face, Jemma cautioned herself to watch her back around these people.

Jemma resisted the urge to keep turning her head to where Harry was sitting — on the opposite side of the Hall, which was not visible as the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were blocking them from view — and concentrated on her dinner that turned to sawdust in her mouth.

She didn't taste anything of her dinner and was extremely glad when the feast was over. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, following the Slytherin prefect down to the dungeons.

"This," the male prefect was saying, gesturing to the gloomy and dark corridor. "is the Dungeon Corridor."

They had crossed the Viaduct Entrance and had just crossed Slughorn's Stairs to this place. Jemma wasn't looking forward to sleeping in the dungeons, and was extremely sulky about it. How much longer do they have to go?

"Just another round of stairs," the female prefect called back. "and we'll be in the Slytherin Common Room!" The first-years groaned in tandem but followed suit down the steep stairs.

"Password's _Threstal_ for now, it changes every fortnight and it's posted on the noticeboard — so be alert and on the lookout for new passwords or you'll be spending your night outside."

Jemma shuddered at the thought of sleeping here. It was dusty, dark and cold. As the prefects had said the Slytherin Dungeons were under the lake, there was no wonder why the temperature was so low.

The stone wall rumbled before shifting, revealing a passageway. The students filled in, Jemma coming in last, bearing witness as the slab of stone slid back in place.

The common room was a room with greenish lamps and chairs. The dungeon extended partway under the lake, giving the light in the room a green tinge. The common room had lots of low-backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas; skulls; and dark wood cupboards. It had quite a grand atmosphere, but also quite a cold one.

The place was decorated with tapestries featuring the adventures of famous Medieval Slytherins.

"Girls, head to the left window — boys on the right — yes, your dorms are just there." The female prefect led them up the short stone stairs, tapped the large window with her wand and it slid opened fairly quickly, revealing a corridor brightly lit by pale-green lights.

She pointed to the plate hanging from the ceiling. "First years," she supplied. "and that stair leads all of you down to the rest of us — in ascending order." She turned back to them. "We're separating you into groups of four. Four groups here and the other group take the other side. Have fun finding your luggage." And with that said, she disappeared down the stairs.

Piper, who had stayed by Jemma's side, wrinkled her nose in distaste. She glanced at Jemma. "You coming?"

Jemma really did not see the point of fighting her way around when she can wait for someone to call out and wonder who's luggage it was there. She shook her head. "I'll wait."

Piper shrugged, disappearing into the first room on the left. She emerged seconds later — as did a few others — and switched rooms. By the third time, she didn't come out but her voice drifted to Jemma. "Oi, Potter — your room's here!"

Jemma peered into the room. There were four poster beds, beautifully decorated in silver sheets and green canopies. The wood was made entirely of rich mahogany and the room was the exact temperature Jemma liked it and the place smelled nice. She noticed her trunk instantly, on the bed furthest from the door. Piper got the one beside the door and she was already bouncing up and down on it.

"The colors are the opposite of the east wing," Piper said. "Their sheets are green and the canopies silver in color."

"I like it the way they are," Jemma said reasonably. "Where's the bathroom?"

Piper flopped onto her back. "You nuts? I'm so tired I could just sleep right away."

"I need a bath or I'll be itchy all night," retorted Jemma. "So, where is it?"

Piper pointed to the door beside the unfamiliar girl's bed. As Jemma passed her, she noted that their other roommate was already asleep and the remaining bed was empty of anything and anyone. Piper noticed her cocked brow and said, "Odd numbers this year. We're one member short. Fine by me, less rowdy, I tell you."

By the time Jemma was done showering, Piper was already snoring softly on her bed. Jemma strained her ears and realized that Piper was right about the rowdiness — she could hear the competitive arguments from here, muffled by the walls. But the sound was silenced completely when Jemma climbed into bed.

Maybe it was because she was tired or it was charmed to be sound-proof — either way, she didn't care.

She fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

**-0-**

Piper, somehow, became her best friend.

Or tutor — having highly anticipated going to Hogwarts since birth, Piper had done a great deal of research about the place. Particularly, about the Slytherin House.

Jemma knew as well as she did that being one of the Child Who Lived, she was already given a great boost. Let the Slytherins think she had some sort of superpower — easier to establish the fact that she was superior and that they should listen to her.

"What do we have today?" Jemma asked, her eyes straying past the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to her brother's scrawny form. She had strategically placed herself in a seat where she could see the Gryffindors.

"Core subjects," muttered Piper.

Jemma glanced back, scouring for a class with Gryffindors — Double Potions on Friday. She glanced at her barely-eaten breakfast. "Can we go now?"

Piper nodded. "I'm on diet anyway."

The two Slytherins were one of the first to reach the Transfiguration class. Even the teacher wasn't there yet.

"So," drawled Piper, plopping down in the third row. "What's with you and your bro?"

Jemma furrowed her brows together in confusion — delicately avoiding the subject by pretending to not know anything about it. "Sorry?"

"I'm not an idiot," said Piper, drumming her fingers on the wooden table, creating annoying taps. "What did you two argue about? Haven't make up yet? Just because you're in different houses doesn't mean you can't talk or anything — "

"We've been arguing for two years," Jemma interjected quietly, stunning Piper into silence.

"What _did_ you do?"

Jemma scowled at her. "Why me?"

"I'm a good judge of character," Piper said wisely, nodding to herself. "and you seem like that type — selfish — "

"Then stay away from me," interjected Jemma coolly. Piper said nothing, looking at her expectantly while Jemma remained resolutely glaring at the clock. Seconds ticked by before Jemma spoke, "I... did magic in front of Muggles — once."

"That's bad?" Piper wondered, her brows knotting.

"My Muggle relatives hate magic — or, as I know it then, anything and everything unusual was unacceptable to them," Jemma said, voice extremely neutral. "I remember playing with my cousin — I was a sore loser and when I lost — well, stuff happened."

"What _stuff_?"

"The whole house flooded — I caused some plumbing problems when I was upset, I suppose."

"Like the incident in the train — by the way, Pansy Parkinson hates you and will be out for your blood, better watch your back," remarked Piper, examining her nails now. "Anyway, you blame your bro — guess he can hold a long grudge, but two years? You sure that's the only reason? Seems too trivial to me for you two to be apart for two years."

"...Because that's not the first incident."

This time, Piper raised her head to look at her. "You mean you... kept blaming him for _your_ mistakes?"

"That's not the first time it happened — just one time too many, I suppose," Jemma admitted delicately, finding sudden interest in her textbook. "and he lost it. Gave me many chances, he says and accuses me of using him." She glared at Piper. "He was magical from the start, displaying his abilities at a young age — all those weird stuff — and my Muggle relatives treated him like shit. I resented it, Piper, but I said nothing because I looked out for myself and knew, if I showed anything abnormal, they'd treat me the same way.

"And when they mistreated him, I ignored it — stayed out of the way, never bothered to help. It's..." Jemma trailed off, seeing the Ravenclaws filling in. "...just sort of second-nature for me to act for myself — instincts like, my own safety and happiness always have to come first and stuff — he never forgave me for all the times I'd crossed him."

Piper studied her friend for a long time, finally adverting her eyes to Professor McGonagall who'd just entered. "I'm just surprised the Hat didn't yell '_Slytherin!_' the moment it touched your head." She shrugged. "Just remind me not to trust you _too_ much."

Jemma studied her sadly.

"You really shouldn't."

**-0-**

The days flew by until Friday came — Jemma felt a nervous flutter in her stomach, it was her first class with the Gryffindors and that meant seeing her brother and the friends he'd made. Jemma had met Professor Snape of course, but they didn't talk, seeing as Jemma effectively hid from the teachers behind taller students.

Her Head of House looked at her oddly though. As if she was a mixture of something unpleasant and familiar. Sort of like how Harry looked at her. Huh, they'd get along well.

Jemma's opinion that Harry and Snape could get along well was forced to change when they had their first Potions Lesson with him.

Jemma sat beside Piper as usual, staring down a few rows where Harry sat with Ron Weasley. The Slytherin propped her head on her hand, watching Harry interacting with Ron and ignoring her as per usual.

Even when they were in normal Muggle school, they had the silent pact of denying relations to one another and tried to pretend the other didn't exist. As they were famous in this Wizarding world, pretending they weren't related was painfully hard.

Snape swoop into class like a bat. Despite his dramatic entrance, Jemma barely glanced at him — her eyes flickered to him before flickering back to her brother — but she saw enough to know he had greasy black hair and cold stone-like eyes, a hooked nose and a mean face.

This was a teacher you don't joke with, Jemma advised herself, deciding to remain silent as long as possible.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Jemma blinked. "Not you," Piper mouthed, pointing discreetly at Harry who looked as confused as Jemma felt. Snape definitely wasn't looking at Jemma, which meant that she was safe.

"I don't know, sir," murmured Harry.

Snape ignored the volunteer who was waving her hand in the air, trying to get his attention; Jemma was a little irked that their teacher was picking on Harry so much but going along with her better judgement, she remained silent. If he hated celebrities so much, he might just call her name to deride her next.

When he had finished sniping Harry, he whirled around to face the Slytherin students who were all smirking. His eyes lingered on Jemma who went on to ignore him but he said nothing.

"Don't worry," Piper said as they stewed their potion. "You're in his House, and even if you're cheeky, he won't take any points if he wants to win the House Cup this year."

Jemma had just opened her mouth to respond when she felt something seeping into her shoes. Shrieking in alarm, she jumped onto her stool, nearly upturning her cauldron. This drew both Harry's attention and alarm; Snape whirled on her, most likely to tell her to shut up, but before he could actually say anything, the rest of the students were also screaming and jumping onto their stools.

Piper steadied herself by grabbing onto Jemma's arm. "That idiot is a disgrace to Pure-bloods," said Piper in disgust while Gryffindor Seamus guided Neville Longbottom out of the room.

"Which proves that blood purity isn't everything," agreed Jemma quietly, eyes flickering to Malfoy who stood in front of them. He glared at her, which pretty much told her that he heard her.

The remaining students spent the remaining hour brewing their potions, still snickering and muttering about Neville's mistakes. Jemma cleared the cauldron with a flick of her wand at the end of the lesson while Piper helped her gather up her books, stiffening slightly when she sensed someone watching her. She felt extremely awkward around Professor Snape — he kept staring at her oddly.

He didn't seem to hate her — she had a feeling he didn't really know what to think of her. He despised her brother but he was still withholding judgement on her — which suited her fine though she'd prefer to stay under every teacher's radar.

Taking her books from Piper and murmuring her thanks to Professor for '_sharing his knowledge with them_', she left. To her utter amazement, Harry and his friend Ron were just waiting for her around the corner.

Harry's tone of voice was chilly — which was a surprise to Ron but Piper looked oddly calm. "Hagrid wants to see us." His sour face told her that he would've enjoyed the invitation more if she wasn't there.

"Another day," she said. "I'll just ruin it for you and your..." Her gaze lingered on Ron, feeling jealous and bitter but she figured she deserved it. "...friend." She finished, pouring spite into the last word that made Ron wince. She grabbed Piper's hand and rushed up the stairs, leaving Harry glaring at the spot where she'd last been.

**-0-**

Ron glanced at his friend once they returned to their dorm, wondering how he should break the awkward silence. "Uh... when you said you weren't close, I guess you're not exaggerating, huh?"

Harry grunted noncommittally.

"Would you have enjoyed it more if your sis was there?" Ron asked, studying Harry's expression closely. Harry tensed before shaking his head. "Then what are you so depressed for?"

"I don't know how I should feel around her," Harry muttered. "I made it clear I hated her years ago but she didn't seem to hate me as much" — Ron was puzzled, he thought the girl looked sad when she faced Harry and she was looking at him during their Potions lesson, but certainly not angry — "even worse," he added grumpily. "we'll be having Flying lessons with Slytherin too!"

He shot Ron a resentful look. "I thought everyone knew about the intense rivalry between our two Houses?"

Ron shrugged. "Guess the Headmaster's damn sadistic."

At three thirty the next afternoon, the Gryffindors — well aware that they were already late — hurried down the front steps and onto the school grounds where their flying lessons were held. The Slytherins were already there, and, automatically, Harry sought out his sister's slighter frame among the Slytherins.

She really looked at home with them there, especially friendly with a taller girl — with strange grayish pale skin, brown hair and eyes of different colors — and Jemma tipped her head back and laughed at a joke the girl told her.

Harry had the sudden realization that he hadn't heard her laugh since forever. Not that there was any fun or happiness in their relatives's house. But Harry thought that at least, he would've heard her laughing more than once.

Harry was so lost in thought it wasn't until Madam Hooch — a woman with grey hair and yellow hawk eyes — blew her whistle that he came to his senses; seeing the rest of the students scrambling for a place beside the forty broomsticks on the ground, he hurried to take his place beside a fine-looking broom.

He looked up, noticing Jemma on the opposite of him; her face was scrunched up against the glare of the sun — or maybe it was because she was looking at him.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!"'

"UP!" Everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. He looked up, seeing Jemma holding her broomstick but she didn't look enthusiastic at all. Harry couldn't place her expression before but when Madam Hooch clapped her on her back and told her she was doing it right, she looked ill.

When they were to mount their brooms, his sister looked ready to puke.

Only now did Harry remember that Jemma hated heights.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. Harry was looking forward to see how well his sister would fare. A sadistic part of him cheered at the thought of her terror, and another part of him told him to fly close to her and if she fell, he'd catch her. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"

A yell of shock and fear cut Madam Hooch off. Harry turned, seeing the accident-prone Neville rising into air. He shot off into the air, screaming his head off as he rose higher than intended. Madam Hooch seemed to be in shock that she remained rooted to the spot.

"I'm going to fall — AHHH!"

Neville _did_ fall. It seemed to be happening in slow-motion as their — well, the Gryffindors were horrified but the Slytherins seemed amused if anything — horror mounted.

"Jemma!"

Harry only had time to turn in amazement before he whirled back to Neville to see his sister shooting off after him. Jemma barely caught Neville as he fell. Neville's broom malfunctioned, whacking them upside the head and nearly causing them to tumble off before flying away.

"Off!" Jemma yelled a few feet above ground and shoved herself and Neville off the broom— just as well, Harry was relieved to know she had realized something was wrong with her broom. Jemma's broom didn't seem to be listening to her at all, in fact, it just malfunctioned slower than Neville's did.

Jemma landed on Neville in a tangle of limbs but unlike Neville, she managed to escape unscathed — she looked shaken, but otherwise, fine.

Even before he was aware of what he was doing, Harry was already striding at a brisk pace towards her. She was shaking slightly, her hazel eyes wide and didn't seem capable of standing without leaning on Harry.

Jemma was usually so cool and calm about everything that it unnerved Harry to see her so out-of-control. It reminded him that she was as human as he was and could be scared of something.

Heights weren't the only thing that terrified her, Harry realized, feeling his younger sister's terrified face tug at his heartstrings. She blamed most of every bad thing she did on him because she was as terrified of being persecuted by their relatives as much as she hated heights.

"Never... ever..." Jemma muttered, shaking like a leaf as Madam Hooch marched over to the twins, one arm guiding a sobbing Neville. Her stern face broke into a grin when she saw Jemma — who remained shaken in her own world, seeming oblivious to everyone. "Heights... hate it... stupid... broom... unreliable..."

Madam Hooch seemed ignorant of Jemma's mutterings; she clapped a hand over Jemma's shoulder. "Take fifteen points for Slytherin for that amazing display of bravery and skill with a broom, Jemma Potter." She smiled. "It's in your blood after all." Then, sterner, she turned to face the rest of the students. "Stay on the ground until I come back, if I see any of you on a broomstick, you'll be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say Quidditch!"

Harry guided his silent sister back to the Slytherins — she was still dazed enough to not resist when the Slytherins swoop her into their midst, congratulating her for winning so many house points on her second week here.

Harry had yet to earn a single point.

He walked back to the Gryffindors who were whispering among themselves; he had to admit, he was a little jealous and wished he had thought to save Neville himself. But, he thought, slightly puzzled, Jemma was so terrified and selfish that she wouldn't have saved Neville of her own wish.

Odd, the broomstick seemed like it had move on its own accord.

"Oh, look — Longbottom dropped his Remembrall!" Malfoy, who had been extremely disgruntled at the fact the rest of the Slytherins were ignoring him, was holding Neville's Remembrall up; it glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Hand it back, Malfoy!" Harry snapped.

Draco sneered. "Come and get it!"

And the following events were so sudden he forgot about the bucking broomsticks long after.

**-0-**

For the first time, Harry was actually _looking_ _for_ _Jemma._ He was practically skipping as he and Ron reached the Great Hall where the teachers and students were gathered, already dining.

His eyes trailed to the Slytherin table and as if sensing his gaze — Jemma and Harry always had the knack to know what the other twin was up to sometimes, it was a strange connection they shared but never pondered upon for long — Jemma looked up. She was the only Slytherin who bothered acknowledging other Houses so she wasn't that hard to spot.

He waved for her to join him as he moved to the Gryffindor table.

She looked so stunned it was almost funny. But she slid out of seat and stride over to him anyway; Harry was grinning up at her for the first time in two years but it faltered when less than appreciated company arrived after her: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

His twin didn't even bat them an eyelash. "Something I can help you with, Harry?"

Before he could answer, Malfoy interjected: "Having a last meal, Potter?" He smirked. "Should I leave you two to exchange sappy goodbyes?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're on the firm ground with Crabbe and Goyle, eh?" Jemma's voice was a perfect-ten of Slytherin derision.

"Said the one who looked ready to pass out on a broom," sneered Malfoy.

"At least I earned fifteen points for our House," she shot back.

"Yeah," Harry piped up. "Unlike you idiots." He wasn't one to pick a fight with Malfoy and his gang of muscles of course, but as the High Table was full of teachers, he didn't think the Slytherins could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl meanly.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," said Ron — who had been silent all this while — abruptly, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's  
yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up. "Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When her housemates had left, Jemma turned to them. "I really have no idea what's a Wizard's duel," she said in a rare bout of honesty.

"And what do you mean by you're my second?" Harry added.

"A second is there to take after you if you died," Ron said, getting started on cooling pie but added, "but this isn't a real duel. The most you and Malfoy could do to one another is send sparks flying since neither of you know enough damaging spells. A real duel is when wizards duel to kill."

Jemma nodded, satisfied as she turned back to Harry. "You wanted to say...?" Her eyes narrowed. "Or did you just ask me here to lure Malfoy here?"

"I made it onto the Quidditch team!" Harry said excitedly, slightly disappointed when his sister just looked as pale and unenthusiastic as ever — nothing seemed to excite her, she didn't squeal about boys or cute things like the girls in Hogwarts, regardless of age, and Harry wondered if that was normal behavior.

"Oh," she said, still looking fairly ill.

Harry stared at her incredulously. "That's all you have to say? Oh?"

"I mean," she quickly corrected herself. "Congratulations. I don't see what's so nice of risking my life in air but good luck." Before Harry's fury could mount any further at her flat tone, she added, "I wouldn't go to the trophy room tonight if I were you, Malfoy would probably tip someone off and you'll be in trouble."

When she had disappeared, Harry whirled back to Ron, furious. "I wish I had never told her," he spat as he stabbed his pie rather viciously, as if it had done something to him. "She ruins the fun in everything! Why can't she be more enthusiastic about it? I thought she'd be happy I was talking to her again — "

Ron glanced at him. "I'm not too big on feelings and stuff," he said after swallowing a mouthful of sweet treats. "but I have a lot of siblings so I know all about sibling-related problem. Aren't you just unhappy she _wasn't_ proud of you?"

**-0-**

Jemma's legs still felt like jelly when she crawled back into bed. A few times, after she'd nodded off, she'd jerk awake again under the impression that she was falling through the air.

Needless to say, she couldn't sleep. Jemma's eyes adjusted to the dark after a few seconds and her eyes instantly drifted to the alarm clock on the table. It was five minutes to twelve; her brother would probably be sneaking out with his friend now.

If Malfoy was intending on keeping his promise, he'd be in the common room now.

Tugging on her slippers, Jemma stepped out of her room; she shuddered slightly when the cold, biting chill of the dungeon stung her but she ignored it and kept her pace as silent as possible as she stepped into the common room. As she suspected, Malfoy wasn't there.

She was pretty sure he'd be laughing his ass off in his dorm now.

Jemma hesitated; should she warn her brother or not?

Finally, after a few seconds, Jemma decided to head to the trophy room. She felt soothed when she walked, feeling the _very-much appreciated_ firm ground under her feet chasing away the impression of falling through the air. Jemma had never understood her fear of heights but she didn't want to stay up long in air to know why.

Jemma flitted along the dark dungeons, glad for the dark that hid her well from possible prying eyes. She sped up the staircase to the third floor, ducking into the trophy room.

"Malfoy?"

Jemma turned: there, leaning with their backs against the wall were her brother and his friends. She stormed over to them, shutting the door as silently as possible.

Ron eyed her. "Did he sent you here in his place?"

"No!" snapped Jemma. "He's tipped you off to Filch and if you don't run now — "

"Shh!" hissed Harry, placing a finger to his lips. "I heard something..."

"That," said Jemma, voice slightly shaky. "would be Mrs. Norris."

To the Gryffindors' mounting horror, she was right. Harry grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the room. They scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"What did I tell you?" Jemma whispered furiously, peering in through the keyhole at the old man who hated the students as much as he loved his cat. "We have to go, she'll _smell_ us."

They ran just as Mrs. Norris pounced on the door, meowing loudly for her master's attention. "Go!" hissed Jemma, shoving her brother and friends out of the way. They tore down the gallery full of suits of armors, with Harry in the lead. They would've been able to flee safely had Neville not tripped and ran right into an armor.

Jemma cringed; the whole castle must be awake by now.

"Run!" yelled Harry, throwing the pretense of stealth; they tore after him, not knowing where they were heading. They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

Jemma sighed. "I'm going back to the dungeons," she said. "Lead me to the Gryffindor Tower."

Ron looked at her oddly. "But the Slytherin Common Room is in —"

"There's a staircase leading straight from the seventh floor to the dungeons there," interrupted the bushy-haired girl. "That's why you want to go with us, right?"

Jemma nodded. "Who're you?"

"Hermione Granger," said the Gryffindor, holding out her hand and the Slytherin took it, shaking her hand.

They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

Jemma shot the rest of them a look that said _I got this_ and turned to Peeves. "Shut up, Peeves — please — you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, ignoring Jemma's attempts at negotiation, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this was a big mistake.

Peeves bellowed their rule-breaking for all to hear. "—STUDENTS OUT OF BED! DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR—"

"Run!" snarled Jemma, grabbing Ron and Harry and running. They tore down to the end of the corridor, and slammed right into a door.

"It's locked!" Ron yelled, voice high in panic.

Jemma snatched Harry's wand and tapped the lock. "Alohomora," she whispered and the door swung open. The rule-breakers piled in, kick it shut and leaned heavily against it, breathing harshly as they strained their ears to listen.

Jemma sighed in relief when Peeves gave away nothing. She looked up and nearly gave away their position. As it was, she was barely stifling her scream of fear. Her trembling hands started pulling harshly on Harry's bathroom. Neville's high whimper told Jemma he had probably saw what she was looking at.

Jemma's eyes fell to the door underneath its large body.

She didn't even get to remark about it before her brother snatched her arm and pull her out of the room. Jemma watched, fascinated and shocked, as the door swung shut, blocking them from the three-headed dogs's view.

The group of five — one Slytherin among the four Gryffindors — didn't stop running until they reached the Fat Lady who guarded the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked in amazement, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces. Her eyes drifted to Jemma, the only stranger to her. "With a Slytherin too," she remarked delicately. "Up to no-good, I know."

Jemma was panting, too immersed in tonight's happenings to care about the insult the portrait had directed at her. "I've enough for tonight, goodnight," she wheezed, and with her hand over her frantic heart, started down the hallway to where the staircase leading down to the dungeon was.

A chorus of tired _Goodnight_'s came from behind her as she disappeared into the shadows.

Harry stared at her back, reluctantly entering his common room. He didn't sleep a wink that night.

Did Jemma make it back to her common room okay?

Harry didn't know when he started caring about Jemma's safety but he didn't think he could rest until he see her in perfectly healthy condition tomorrow morning.

**-0-**


	4. Chapter 004: Of Trolls and Mirrors

**The Other Child Who Lived**

**First Arc.**

**Chapter 004: **Of Trolls and Mirrors

Unlike Harry, Jemma slept fine that night.

That didn't mean she wasn't tired — the excitement of the night had worn off to be replaced by sleepiness. As she shuffled blindly, half-asleep to the bathroom, she ran right into her other roommate, Sally-Anne.

Sally-Anne Perks was a short and quiet girl with plain who fades easily into the background and half the time, Jemma didn't even know she was in the room. It was a wonder to both Jemma and Piper that she made it into Slytherin at all.

"She looks more like a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff to me," Piper had said once, when they were discussing Sally-Anne when the other girl was in the shower. "Still, be on guard around her, who knows what she's got up her sleeve?"

Jemma agreed wholeheartedly with her — always the least suspected one was the most dangerous.

"What were you up to last night?" asked Piper as Jemma staggered out of the bathroom, rubbing her stinging eyes as soap had gotten in. Seeing Jemma's quizzical look, she added, "I heard you but I was too tired to even bother with you."

"What if something had happened to me?" wondered Jemma. "You're not worried?"

Piper snorted. "I'd be worry about the idiot who messes with you."

Jemma smirked, letting the matter of Piper's loyalty drop.

Hermione Granger, surprisingly, liked Jemma — even though their Houses hated one another — and sought the Girl Who Lived the next day after their encounter with the three-headed dog.

"Did you see the door underneath it?" Hermione asked.

Jemma nodded. "Most likely guarding something." And with that, they dropped the matter completely. Jemma and Hermione were never friends the way Piper and Jemma were; Jemma supposed she and Hermione were just acquaintances for benefit, and if one needed help in a particular subject, they'd consult one another.

Jemma went about her usual business, and she rarely, if ever passed Harry in the halls. The castle was so large, to meet someone specific, you'd need to have a real reason to find that someone or you'll never see him. Harry didn't seek her out either, too absorbed with his friends and Quidditch to bother about her — not that he cared in the first place.

Jemma had nothing remotely interesting or exciting coming her way.

"Oh, not again," grumbled Piper from beside her, drawing Jemma out of her reverie.

"What's wrong?" asked Jemma, turning to look at her friend — well, friends for benefits, but friends nonetheless.

"Dad blew up the house again," Piper said, slightly disgusted and annoyed. She shook her head. "He's really hopeless without anyone there to help him."

"Where's your mother?" But even as she asked that, Jemma already knew — from how Piper phrased it — that her mother was probably gone. And predictably, Piper's face hardened. "You have my condolences."

Piper shook her head. "Mom was at fault, she was drunk and she still drove — well, she also ruined another man's family." Clearing her throat awkwardly, she rummaged around for her quill to scribble back a reply to the awaiting owl. "He's hopeless, my dad," said Piper. "All he does is pose and grin and look like an idiot on the front pages... really don't know what my mom and the rest of his fangirls see in him... you see? And, have I ever told you about that one time..."

Jemma nodded, not really listening as Piper complained about her dad. She strained her ear, and heard, on the other side of the table where Malfoy sat, that he too, was complaining about his mom.

Jemma felt boiling resentment —_hate_— towards these rich kids.

Did they know that, for all the silly and stupid mistakes and things they might've done, Jemma would've given anything and everything for the letters to be for her from her parents?

**-0-**

While the rest of the Houses must've been waking up to the smell of delicious treats made by the house-elves, the Slytherins were woken up by the giant squid.

Not a cooked squid.

But the giant squid monster that constantly flooded the dungeons when it had enough power to shatter the glasses and gave them a bath.

It was considered a fortunate thing that the squid just chose to ram into the part of the dungeon under the lake as a wake-up call instead of breaking the glasses and poking its head in.

Piper swore violently and colorfully as she was rudely waken.

"It's Halloween," Jemma said, snorting. "Let it have some fun."

It was an unpleasant affair — getting dressed while the place shook every three seconds. Needless to say, the Slytherins were glad to be out of the dungeons.

Jemma thought it was grossly unfair to have classes on Halloween, she'd rather be snuggling under her covers and sleep the whole day away until it was time for the feast.

"Coming?" Piper called.

"Bathroom," Jemma called back. "Go without me!" She tossed Piper her books before heading off to the closest bathroom which happened to be on the third floor.

Being unfamiliar with the upper floors, Jemma lost fifteen minutes before managing to find her way to the bathroom. She did not expect to see Hermione Granger there, sobbing. She felt out of her element, shuffling her feet awkwardly and wondering what she should do.

Fortunately, Hermione saved her the trouble of saying anything by looking up, stiffing her sob and rubbing her eyes furiously.

"Is something the matter?" Jemma asked finally even though she wanted to walk away. She didn't think it was the right way to make any useful allies to help her in the future.

Hermione shook her head, sniffling. "It's nothing. Just some stupid stuff."

"What stuff?" Jemma persisted. But when Hermione just sniffled, she decided to relent. "Okay. You don't have to tell me what's the problem but... if it's bothering you so much, just consult my brother and his friends — you guys are friends, right?"

Much to her horror, Hermione burst into a wave of fresh tears. Evidently, Jemma had said the wrong thing. "Did they bully you?" she wondered, unable to imagine her brother bullying someone as he had often been on the receiving end.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't have any friends!" she sobbed. "They said I'm a stuck-up know-it-all, and — and — " She hiccuped, trailing off and giving in to another bout of sobbing and sniffling.

Jemma didn't know what to do — which was rare as she was usually also a know-it-all though she was far more subtle and less inclined to draw any attention to herself. Back at Muggle school, half the time, Jemma was the reason why other girls cried in the bathroom. Putting people in their places, as uncouth as it sounded, made Jemma feel better about herself. At least she could claim to be smart and pretty.

A small part (which was quite large) of Jemma enjoyed seeing hopelessness and despair, her sadism kicking in, but she never sniped to hurt permanently. Just a few harmless pranks and a few pushes in the hallway when no teacher was looking, nothing serious so Jemma never reflected about her bullying tendencies or had she ever apologize.

She didn't comfort people as her cousin and brother weren't the crying types — Dudley did the bullying and Harry was just too tough to crumble like that so she had no practice at all.

Hesitating before she approached Hermione and crouched beside her, she awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Hey," she said softly. "It's okay. You and I are friends, remember?"

Hermione shouldn't remember since this was a fact Jemma had just decided upon. Before Hermione could say anything however, the ground rumbled and dust fell from the ceiling.

"What... is that?" Hermione asked, bewildered as she turned to Jemma for answer.

"I don't know," said Jemma calmly. "But I'm going to go check it out."

Before she could so much as move, the cause of the noise appeared. Jemma's jaw dropped when she saw it: standing at twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

Hermione screamed, which Jemma thought was ironic. Hermione was the Gryffindor, the brave and chivalrous one, and there she was, cowering heroically behind Jemma the Slytherin who was not supposed to be in the front lines.

Jemma was so surprised to find herself facing combat — in her first year no less, she thought schools were supposed to be safe for students — that she wasted precious time fumbling for her wand and trying to point it at the troll without hurting herself.

Faced in real danger, all the spells, hexes and jinxes she'd learned flew out the window. Nothing the professors described could ever compare — or prepare them — to the real thing.

The troll roared, lumbering towards the two girls, smashing the sinks as it went, swinging its too long arms.

Then — miracles of miracles — a familiar voice yelled: "Confuse it!"

Something hit the back of the troll's head. It turned, grunting in confusion, as if puzzled at the sight of two new opponents. It hesitated a few moments before switching targets; raising its club high over its head and charging Harry.

Her brother was in danger.

That was enough for Jemma snap back into reality. However, she could find no spells in her panic-ridden mind and ended up gaping stupidly at the troll.

"Oi, pea-brain!" Ron yelled, throwing a pipe at it. The troll went even more berserk at the attack though Jemma doubted it had effected him in any way. It turned to Ron, giving Harry enough time to run for it. "Run!" Ron shrieked at the rest of them.

Harry seized Jemma's hand and Hermione's shoulder, trying to haul both girls out of the door. "Come on!"

"Ron's got no way out," Jemma managed to stammer out through her fear. She wished Harry wouldn't leave to save his best friend by charging the troll. For a few reasons but mainly because she didn't want him to get hurt and another because she could barely stand without support.

When she looked back on it, she found this to be _very_ pathetic — and cowardly, but she didn't care about the latter, if being a coward meant being able to escape with her life and limb, she didn't care.

Fortunately, she managed to redeem her dignity when she saved Harry from getting thrown off. Being the reckless idiotic hero he was, Harry had jumped onto the troll's back and stuck his wand up the troll's nose. Jemma doubted it was to cast a spell in the troll's nostrils and she doubted even more that her brother did it intentionally.

Who would want troll snot on their wand?

Seeing her brother hanging on for dear life being snatched up by the troll managed to snap her out of shock. She pointed her cedar wand at it, hoping that it'd be remarkable now and yelled: "_Locomotor Mortis_!" The Leg-Locker Curse was something she'd seen a fifth-year teaching Malfoy and his gang and she had learned it fairly easy.

The troll collapsed, dropping Harry.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Ron yelled, pointing his wand at Harry so that her twin landed safely and slowly on the ground. The troll was still jerking and struggling to move. "What do we do?" Ron asked, trembling as bad as Jemma.

With a roar, the troll pushed himself up, his head connecting with the bathroom ceiling and shaking Jemma's whole world. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" Jemma screeched. And the troll fell back onto the ground like a ragdoll.

Hermione inhaled sharply, speaking first once the troll stopped moving. Not even a single twitch. "It's not dead, is it?"

"No," Jemma said, wand still pointed at the troll. "It's just a Full Body-Bind Curse."

Harry approached it, pulling his wand out of the troll's nostrils, grimacing in disgust. "Ew. Troll boogers."

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell  
took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry then diverted her attention to Hermione and Jemma, both girls whom weren't capable of standing at the moment. Jemma had never seen Professor McGonagall look so angry. Her lips were thin and pressed together into a white line of fury.

Jemma thought it'd be grossly unfair that she'd be punished for doing something as heroic as saving her friends' life — even though she'd also done it to save herself.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" snarled Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Jemma looked up at the boys; Harry was still wiping the troll snot away from his wand with Ron's robes (not that the Weasley noticed with how he was gaping at his House Head). "You're lucky you're all alive! Why aren't you all in your dormitories?"

Snape gave them all a severe look, but his attention lingered on Jemma, his Slytherin student. "Well? Answer us, Potter."

Jemma inhaled and exhaled shakily. "I was just heading to the bathroom, before the feast and I certainly didn't hear the news. Hermione was here since... well, she was already here even before I arrived." Jemma licked her lips, feeling herself regaining confidence now that the whole ordeal was over. "We talked... and then that thing came."

"The troll was Paralyzed, which one of you did it?"

"I did, sir," Jemma said. "I was not aware it's forbidden, I just acted to save my brother whom, the troll was quite ready to throw through the ceiling."

"I t-think she d-deserves fifteen points for S-Slytherin, don't you a-agree?"

Jemma turned to look at the timid Professor Quirrell in surprise. Snape's lips curled but he nodded, then he turned to the Gryffindors. "What about you boys?"

Professor McGongall didn't seem to be as easy to please as Snape was, Jemma thought, wondering how her brother and his best friend was going to get out of it. She had managed to save Hermione, but she didn't think there was anything she could do for the boys.

"We knew Hermione was here, you see," Ron said. "so we came to save her."

The canyon between her brows lessened slightly. "I must say you're lucky you got out alive but not many first-years could take on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

Jemma struggled to her feet, staggering a few steps before she managed to make it out of the bathroom.

"You okay?" Harry asked quietly, falling back and letting Ron and Hermione walk ahead to allow them time to speak.

Jemma was too shaken by earlier events to think it was odd for him to be talking to her. She nodded. "You?"

"Fine," he grimaced. "Just need to clean my wand. And, it's nice to be away from the troll's stench."

Jemma nodded in agreement. "I'd be taking an hour's bath."

Harry almost smiled. Almost. "Yeah, me too."

**-0-**

Nothing interesting until the Quidditch season began in November.

By then, news about Jemma's battle with the troll had reached everyone's ears and the older Slytherins were treating her better instead of looking at her critically and murmuring among themselves rudely, as if trying to find something wrong in her build.

By then, Jemma had learned that power was everything to the Slytherins and the stronger and famous you were, the more privileges you get. Malfoy was the most displeased as he wasn't gaining the recognition he wanted and expected from his housemates.

Pansy Parkinson and her gang hated Jemma Potter with every fiber of their being. It was common for the girls to throw hexes at one another as they passed the other in the hallway or was lurking around the common room. Fortunately, Piper was there and Jemma had Annabeth, Zia and Hazel to help her too.

Hazel knew a lot of Healing Spells, which saved Jemma the trouble of going to Madam Pomfrey and all the awkward questions that would rise. Jemma didn't fancy letting everyone know that the Slytherins were constantly trying to kill one another and what would Snape do to them if he knew?

Jemma was in bed, lazing about and resting away the stiffness of the last hex Parkinson had placed on her. She cursed herself for letting her guard down and swore to never do that again. She was getting to comfy with Piper's awareness and help from the rest of the girls.

"Oi, Jem!" Scowling, Jemma cracked an eye open to look at Piper who was all decked out to go out. A Slytherin-themed scarf was around her neck: silver and green.

"If your next words are to invite me to play snowball with you, I will hex you into next Saturday."

Piper snorted. "I'd like to see you try," she said. When she saw Jemma reached for her wand however, she hastily added, "I mean — don't you want to see your brother play?"

"Snowball?"

"Get with the program, Jem," Piper scoffed. "It's the first match of the season: Slytherin versus Gryffindor."

Jemma rolled out of bed. "I'm going," she said, pulling on her coat and her scarf.

Piper shot her a dirty look. "Whose side are you on?"

Jemma smiled down at her silver-red scarf, linking arms with Piper. "Let's go and chalk up our first defeat in years to come, hm?"

**-0-**

Jemma studied the crowd. "I'm actually surprised the Slytherins are so enthusiastic about this," she remarked. "I thought Slytherins didn't care much about the physical aspects of the school."

"We're well-rounded," said Annabeth patiently, her eyes as stormy as the sky overhead. "We are competitive and strive to be the best in everything."

"You strike me as the brainy type," Jemma remarked.

Annabeth laughed lightly. "The only reason no girls get on the team is because... ah, well, the captain — Marcus Flint — is a sexist ass. He wouldn't let me play Chaser."

"I wanted to be a Seeker," Zia said, scowling at Marcus Flint who was shaking hands with the Gryffindor Captain, Oliver Wood. "but with that idiot as Captain, the chances are slim."

Piper looked mildly disappointed. "I wanted to be a Chaser too," she mumbled, disheartened. She glanced at Hazel. "What about you?"

Hazel shook her head. "Not interested." She eyed the players nervously, wincing when a Slytherin Chaser rammed into a Gryffindor Chaser. "Looks painful."

"They could've fallen," Jemma mumbled, her voice drowned out by the crowd's screams and jeers. Wishing that she wasn't with such a rowdy crowd, Jemma stared through the binoculars, trying to see Harry among the fliers. She frowned when she saw her brother jerking about on his broom.

It reminded her of her first (and last) time on a broom. Broomsticks were unreliable and dangerous — she maintained her point of view — and rebellious, apparently, they have a knack for throwing riders they dislike of their brooms.

"Wild stuff, aren't they?" Jemma murmured to Annabeth, who, miraculously, heard her.

Annabeth stared at her quizzically. "What wild stuff?"

"Those brooms," muttered Jemma. "they throw players they don't like off, don't they? Neville's broomstick tried to beat me and him to death once — what?" Jemma asked, staring up at Annabeth who was staring down at her with a puzzled expression.

"Broomsticks don't have a mind of their own, unlike the other magical stuff in our world," said Annabeth. "Brooms won't try to throw you off unless it's jinxed."

"What?" Jemma snarled, looking through the binoculars again. No one else seemed to be noticing that Harry's broom was behaving strangely (apparently), and he was jerking and twitching further away from the game. She looked up at Annabeth. "My brother — his broom, it's cursed!"

"Seriously?" Annabeth snatched the binoculars from her hands. "You're right. I'm speaking from a bias opinion here: if he's in trouble, he won't get the Snitch and we'll win! That's actually good — Jemma!"

But Jemma was already tearing through the stands; she had to find a professor to stop this madness. Professor Quirrell came to mind even though he was timid and looked fairly incompetent, he was still their Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, so he should be able to help.

Jemma raced along the row behind Snape, where the rest of the teachers were gathered, rushing toward Professor Quirrell — who fell over. Jemma nearly ran into Hermione who was running from the opposite direction. The girls exchanged puzzled glances.

"Harry —" Hermione gasped. " — in trouble — Snape's doing!"

"Go!" Jemma yelled, darting towards Professor Quirrell who seemed to have fainted. She kicked him in the ribs, trying to nudge him awake. Before she could do anything else however, cheers rose from the other side and Lee Jordan, the commentator, was saying something.

"What's this? Gryffindor's Seeker has fallen and... oh no, he looks like he's going to be sick — YES! He's got the Snitch!"

Jemma yelped, jostled by the crowd, but someone's hand dug into her elbow and hauled her off the raving crowd and under the stands. She turned, running a hand through her disheveled hair to face Hermione.

"Quirrell's useless," said Jemma, disgusted as they made their way back.

Hermione frowned at her. "Don't be so mean, he's just been traumatized. We have to keep an eye on Snape, make sure he doesn't try anything funny."

Jemma arched a brow. "I don't think Snape would murder anybody."

Hermione straightened. "I suggest you watch your back too, we think he might be out for Potter blood."

**-0-**

Jemma didn't think much of it: she didn't really believe Snape would actually kill them, not when they were under Dumbledore's watch. From how the Slytherins phrased it, it seemed as if the Headmaster had his eye in every nook and cranny of the castle. How he managed this, she had no idea, but she was determined to ask him someday.

The dungeons were colder than ever. It was fortunate their dorms were charmed to the occupants' desired temperature or the Slytherins would've frozen to death.

Their Potions Classroom however, was as cold as ever and Piper nearly ruined their potion more than once when she kept sneezing — she'd caught a cold and was stubborn, insisting that she didn't need to see Madam Pomfrey. From what Jemma could gather, she had bad experiences with hospitals and would never step foot in an infirmary or hospital unless she was on the verge of death.

So, really, Jemma wasn't surprised to wake up on Christmas Day to Piper's endless coughs. She was too ill to return home and she insisted on staying at Hogwarts — their other roommate had already left.

"Merry Christmas!" Jemma said cheerfully, enjoying how miserable Piper looked. It wasn't everyday one could see Piper so weak and Jemma was delighted to know how weak and vulnerable her friend can get. Jemma's sadism had gotten better as she had Pansy and her gang to vent on but that didn't mean she let her friends off easy.

Sometimes, they still needed a few pokes in the eye to know who was in charge there.

Her mood improved even more when she a small pile at the foot of bed. "Surprised," she said dryly, darting a glance at Jemma's pile and noted how big it was.

She actually a pile — no matter how small it was — of stuff for her: it was more than enough.

Jemma had expected to see Hagrid's — true to her words, she had visited Hagrid after Harry and Ron visited him and had made repeated trips there with Piper — since they were quite friendly with one another. It was a small wooden statue of a fairy which he had obviously whittled himself. The next was from the Dursleys, she ignored the note and opened the parcel which happened to contain a napkin.

It was better than nothing, and she figured whatever they gave Harry was even worse than hers. What surprised her was the lumpy parcel from Mrs. Weasley — she wasn't friends with Ron and here that woman was, giving her something. She opened it, revealing a silver-green sweater, in Slytherin colors.

She grinned, pulling it on. The next time she see Ron, she promised herself to thank him and his family. Hermione had given her Muggle chocolate which Jemma thought she'd share with Piper — or eat it in front of her since Piper couldn't eat it with a sore throat.

Annabeth, Zia and Hazel had given her something. A book about hexes and jinxes from Zia (Jemma always knew the older Arabian girl was _mean_), a journal from Annabeth (she knew the blonde wouldn't give her anything remotely _fun_), and a bracelet from Hazel (whose parents _owned_ a jewelry shop). That only left one parcel.

It sounded empty and after tearing the wrappers off, she was wary to lift the lid. What if it was a prank? It didn't have the sender's name or address on it. Deciding to take the risk, Jemma removed the lid, staring down in surprise at the mirrors.

She stared at them. Her reflection was blurry and misty and Jemma reached out to wipe the dust off both glassy surfaces. No matter how hard she scrubbed however, her reflection was still blurry in both mirrors. But it wasn't cursed so she figured Parkinson and her gang hadn't send her anything.

Jemma placed the mirrors by her bedside table, finding them completely useless but she figured they'd be useful in her find for the owner.

Her fingers lingered on the handle of the glass.

She wondered what Harry got for Christmas.

**-0-**

"Jem?"

Groaning, Jemma — who had always been a light-sleeper — turned around in bed, glaring through sleepy eyes at where she dimly saw Piper's blurred form. "What?" she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow she was burying half her face in.

"I want pumpkin juice," The other girl croaked. "Think it'd soothe my throat."

"No, it won't," Jemma said crossly, closing her eyes but Piper kept groaning miserably. After a few tense seconds, Jemma snapped, "Fine," and threw off the covers. "I'll get it for you, just shut up okay?"

She pulled on her bathrobe and wrestled with her shoe. She couldn't see in the dark and she nearly tripped. Fortunately, she managed to steady herself on her bedside table before she fell ungracefully. Her hand fumbled for a few moments before she managed to grasp the mirror.

"Hurry up," complained Piper loudly. "I'm thirsty!"

It was then that Jemma realized she'd been staring too long at the mirror. Which, she was sure now, wasn't a normal mirror. It showed a path out of the dorm and she followed what the mirror showed, half-expecting to see the solid wall next to the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was just a wall and not some secret passageway.

Jemma grasped the mirror tighter in hand, stealing glances at it once in a while to make sure she was heading the right way. Piper's need can wait, right now, she just wanted to satisfy her own curiosity which urged her to follow where this mirror was showing her to go.

Jemma fumbled for her wand, lighting it up and tapped the bricks before her a few times. It slid opened — just a crack large enough for her to slip through.

Jemma stared at the mirror for further instruction as she dusted the dust off her bathrobe. Turning to her left, she strode down the hall quietly, coming up to the painting the mirror was showing. The reflection changed, showing a hand reaching out to tickle the pear — which, after Jemma did as the mirror instructed, tickled and squirmed, morphing into a doorknob which she turned and entered.

Much to her disappointment, she found herself in the kitchen which was a mirror of the Great Hall.

She frowned accusingly down at the mirror. "I was hoping you'd bring me to somewhere interesting." But the mirror was back to being useless and reflected only a blurry image of her. Sighing, she set off to get the pumpkin juice Piper so desperately needed.

**-0-**

Believing that the mirror only worked at night, and only once at night — since Jemma had consulted the mirror in the day and found nothing different — Jemma decided to try her luck the next night after she found that secret passageway to the kitchen. This information, she happily shared with Piper who'd sworn not to tell anyone.

Until she was certain about the mirror's properties, Jemma wasn't going to share it with anyone. Of course, one of the people she knew might have sent it to her.

The question was why.

To jinx her? Curse and hex and harm her? Probably. But it hadn't emitted any evil aura so Jemma wasn't about to chuck it out or show it to Professor Quirrell.

Once she was sure Piper was deeply asleep, Jemma pulled the same mirror out — leaving its twin in her drawer — and gazed deeply into it._ Show me something interesting_, she thought. _Something that would haunt me._

It was a very, very dangerous wish but the mirror seemed to respond to her dangerous intents and morphed: once again, showing her way out of the Slytherin common room.

Grinning — excited for an adventure because despite the interesting lessons, life had been dull — Jemma rolled out of bed and tiptoed out of the room.

The mirror led her through many twists and turns, and at night, Hogwarts castle was different than it was in the morning. It became more sinister, crueler and seemed way larger. Hallways Jemma swore she'd been through before suddenly became strangers. There were no ghosts around but she already felt haunted.

Last night, the mirror had helped her find a quick route to the kitchens without getting caught.

This time, she wondered what the mirror was trying to show her. Jemma reached the fourth floor, having taken the steps by two, and the mirror quickly showed her down the hall.

Her blood pounding in her ears, she pushed the door open. It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket — but propped against the wall facing her was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

Jemma repeated the words aloud with difficulty, wondering if it was a spell as she stepped into view, her own mirror clutched tightly in hand.

The mirror, Jemma realized a few seconds later, was useless if one wanted to right their hair or apply makeup because Jemma definitely did not see herself.

A boy around her age peered back at her, with curious green eyes and black hair like her brother's — but in the dark, she couldn't be sure it was him. And the scene behind him morphed into the Slytherin Common Room. Jemma was skeptical and confused; was the mirror showing her in a parallel universe where she was a boy?

A gateway to an alternate universe?

Jemma looked behind the mirror, she also prodded, poked and knocked on the mirror but the boy merely smirked and with a wave of his hand, the scene changed. A woman with flaming red hair was presenting something to a smaller girl with dark hair and hazel eyes, and beside them, stood a boy around the girl's age and it didn't take one hard to know they were siblings. A man who looked remarkably like him stood behind him, grinning and clasping his son on the shoulder.

Jemma stared at them in shock. The girl was _her_ and the boy was Harry.

Jemma, tried as she might, could not tear her eyes away from the mirror. Instead, she moved closer. The world didn't matter, all that mattered was that she had to get to them — to get closer so she could be the girl in the mirror — not Jemma, just a girl who had her family — her mom and dad and brother were waiting, what was she still standing there for? Did she not want them?

_No! I- I'm coming! _— but even as she tried to reassure them, their faces crumpled. Their disappointment and sadness destroyed her heart. Gasping in pain because she could barely breathe, she lunged. _I'm coming!_

Jemma didn't realize she was scratching desperately, crying and sobbing, at the mirror for purchase until someone hauled her away.

She inhaled sharply, feeling pain and the life flooding back into her veins. She raised her head to see who had saved her from insanity and exhaled softly, relaxing. "That," she said slowly, thickly, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "is a _very_ dangerous mirror."

"I agree," said Albus Dumbledore, glancing down at her with a kind and pitying twinkle in his blue eyes. "Do you know what it is?" She nodded shakily, grabbing her own mirror, silently promising herself to not use it again until she was really desperate for help. The headmaster said nothing but she still felt embarrassed, to have fallen into pieces at the hands of a charmed object, she should've known better.

"Do not be embarrassed," said Dumbledore, once again giving her the impression he could read minds — which he probably could, and she tried to keep her mind blank despite the whirling thoughts. "An even more skilled wizard had reacted way worse than you did when they looked into the Mirror of Erised. Furthermore, the mirror's affects are greater and stronger on those who only have one desire — a desire that had molded them and their dreams and their entire being, letting no other desires and needs to get in the way."

Jemma remained silent, digesting the information as the fear and panic ebbed away. She didn't think anything could hurt her as long as she was by Dumbledore's side — this feeling was both disturbing and comforting. She had never felt anyone exuding so much power.

"If I may ask," said Dumbledore quietly, breaking the silence between them. "what do you see when you look into The Mirror of Erised?" She glanced at him, startled by the question, and he added, "Your brother has seen this too, and he has been making repeated trips back — I do not know what he sees but it is enough for him to neglect everything else. He has not succumbed to the mirror as quickly as you'd done, but that is even more dangerous — poison that takes you unaware, slowly and silently... he'll be releasing his grip on sanity."

Jemma swallowed. "Will you warn him?"

Dumbledore stared at her curiously. "Why not do it yourself?"

"My brother and I are not close — we have an estranged relationship," said Jemma, finding that though it still hurt to acknowledge the fact, she felt better telling that to someone who would't judge her too badly. "My fault, I suppose. I shouldn't have been so self-centered. If I'd paid more attention to him..." Jemma trailed off, uncomfortably aware that Dumbledore's stare was too intense and misty. "Sir?" she ventured, having the feeling that he'd forgotten about her when she was speaking.

He blinked. "I apologize," he said softly. "I should have not asked such a personal question."

But Jemma had already seen what he was trying to hide — familiarity. And it wasn't because he knew she wasn't close to her remaining family left, but the familiarity of an experience.

"I knew someone who saw the same thing as I did in the Mirror of Erised — my family intact, happy; reconciliation with my brother and my parents coming back," she said delicately, wondering if Dumbledore would blast her to bits for being so opinionated. Her whole body fought what her mind knew better; her eyes wanted to see her parents again, see that reflection in the mirror, but she really shouldn't.

"I've got to go," she finally said. "Goodnight, Professor."

He blinked, staring down at her sadly. "Goodnight, Jemma."

**-0-**

Jemma did not have a good night. Nor did she have any good nights the days after. Dumbledore was right when he said that the Mirror could drive one crazy. Jemma had only seen the Mirror once and she was addicted to it — if she didn't see it again, she felt as if she could die. More than once, Jemma barely caught herself walking up the fourth floor.

Fortunately, Jemma had a great deal of self-restraint and had managed to snap herself out of it before she could go back to the storage room — though she still often found herself going up the stairs to the fourth floor where temptation lied awaiting her. Fortunately, the Mirror had been moved away — as Dumbledore had owled her so.

Jemma concentrated on other matters to distract herself. Especially at night where she studied till dawn — the only way to escape her nightmares. It was a huge problem but once Jemma woke, she couldn't recall much but a sliver of green light and her mother's screams as she died, and the nightmares always left an ache in her chest and her cheeks were always salty.

Jemma had managed to smuggle out some information from the older Slytherins and she was no concentrating on learning Legilimency — it wasn't illegal but she had a feeling first-year students really weren't supposed to know anything about mind-reading.

Jemma found this a useful skill and despite how it was pretty much impossible to learn without a real teacher, she set about learning it, teaching herself and practicing on others.

Problem was, Jemma didn't know whether the images she was seeing is something of other people's thoughts or they were her own imagination.

Jemma was spending so much time on studying and avoiding sleep that, during a Transfiguration lesson, she was so dazed she didn't even realize she'd turn Malfoy's nose into a pig's snout. It was definitely her imagination running wild when she was supposed to be concentrating on the spell that had done it. Professor McGonagall had practically ordered her out of her class and to the infirmary.

"I just have really bad nightmares," Jemma'd protested as Professor McGonagall marched her out of the class.

"Which is horrible enough to make you lose concentration," Professor McGonagall said, her face severe though Jemma could detect a hint of concern. "I can not let you lose concentration in my class, Ms. Potter, Transfiguration is a branch of magic that needs utmost—"

Jemma didn't hear what the Professor said next. Mainly because her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and she'd fainted.

**-0-**

Piper was glaring down at her with a cocked eyebrow when she woke. "That," said Piper. "was pathetic. If you don't even know your limits..."

Tiredly, Jemma imagined a mental hand brushing Piper's mind, expecting nothing but instead — Jemma felt a wave of concern she shouldn't be feeling, of annoyance because _The Girl Who lived can't keep herself alive?_

Jemma smiled, despite herself. "Good to see you too," she said, and she meant it.

"What were you dreaming about?" Piper demanded, irritated, as she crossed her arms, a stern expression on her face. "You were thrashing and moaning in pain in your sleep." Her face softened. "Hey, you know you can share what's bothering you, y'know? I hear it helps a lot..."

Jemma reached out and took Piper's hand in hers.

She smiled, her heart warm as she felt a great surge of affection. It felt nice to know you have a friend out there who'd stayed the whole day waiting for you to wake up.

The nightmares stopped after that.

**-0-**

Nothing exciting happened other than Snape was furious at this year's team lost to the Gryffindorks — as the Slytherins so lovingly called their house-rival.

The whole of Slytherin was sullen, that was of course, until they were suddenly in the lead.

And the rumors spread: of how Gryffindors, the Boy Who Lived and his friends, had broken school rules and each had gotten detention and fifty points taken from them.

Jemma knew the Slytherins were ecstastic after that, but she couldn't help feeling surprised. She had so many stuff going on that the thought of her brother and how he was holding up had been driven out of her mind.

She felt a little sad that she was starting to forget him, placing him second to her work, grades and own friends. She knew he'd pushed her priority back years ago and she knew that they weren't close at all but _before_ they came to this school, she still followed him everywhere and wondered how he was doing... now, she no longer cared.

She was slightly disappointed in herself for forgetting Harry so easily but that was it.

People grow close, and grow apart when the time comes.

There was nothing she can do but to move on and forget.

**-0-**

**Question: **Any speculation as to how Jemma survived the night Voldemort came to their home and murdered her parents? I'm extremely curious as to how people would answer this.

**Answer to reviews:**

**Azalie-Kaurlu:** Thanks for the review. I didn't answer because that would be revealing too much. Hope it doesn't offend you. But, yes, you got the gist of the plot. n.n

**ZabuzasGirl:** I'll try to. This is pretty quick is it not?

**dream lightning:** Nice to see people being sympathetic but Jemma isn't exactly what you'd call innocent and blameless...


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